


Completion

by CantStopImagining



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: 5 Times, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Character Study, Erin/Abby friendship, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7885432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantStopImagining/pseuds/CantStopImagining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out, journalling doesn’t magically make ghosts leave you alone. Who knew?</p><p>Or, five times Erin Gilbert wasn't good enough (and one time she was).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Completion

**Author's Note:**

> This is primarily a character study of Erin. I used quite a lot of stuff from the Ghosts From Our Past book, as well one of the kid books about the movie (which I dont own so I can't confirm facts) so a few of the things in here are actually canon. I only really decided to shove Holtzbert fluff in here at the end and I feel like I've rewritten that one scene over and over so sorry if its repetitive. Thanks for reading.

1.

“Kindergarten is hard,” her mom tells her, smoothing back locks of auburn hair from where they’ve stuck themselves to her forehead. She kisses her, rubs a thumb under both of Erin’s eyes, trying (and failing) to stop the tears from sliding down her cheeks.

It’s been nine weeks. It isn’t kindergarten that’s the problem: it’s Erin.

She sits inside during recess, quietly tucked into a corner with a book that’s probably too advanced for her. Even her teacher raises her eyebrows, but has given up on trying to convince Erin to go outside. Erin, who is the brightest kid in her class, but won’t put her hand up to answer questions anymore. She still has scraped knees from two days ago when one of the boys pushed her over in the school yard, and as far as Erin’s concerned, that’s it: she’s never going out again.

“She’s always been shy,” she overhears her father saying, after her parents have been dragged into the school office for a second time, “she just needs encouragement.”

Encouragement comes in the form of dollar bills being handed out to anybody who will spend an hour with her. Erin, fortunately, doesn’t notice right away.

-

2.

The grey wool of the sheriff’s blanket is prickly against Erin’s bare shoulders. She has it pulled up so high that she can’t see over it, but it isn’t enough. She knows everyone’s looking. Everyone’s always looking.

It’s been four days since she last attempted sleep. Nineteen since her first therapy session. Sixty-eight since she first saw the ghost.

An hour and two minutes since she dived headfirst into Goguac Lake.

It isn’t that she’d wanted to drown, exactly. She isn’t sure that at age eight she really has the mental capacity to understand the implications that come with drowning. She’d just wanted everything to be quiet for a while. Calm. Still.

It turns out, journalling doesn’t magically make ghosts leave you alone. Who knew?

The eight minutes that she’d spent underwater had felt like possibly the best eight minutes of her life. She’d squeezed her eyes closed, and held her nose, and under the water’s surface she had found the silence she needed. It hadn’t felt like drowning. She hadn’t panicked or floundered, letting her whole body go loose, drifting through nothingness. It had been beautifully peaceful…

…until she’d been yanked to the surface.

The noise around her had hit her like tidal wave, and then the rest of her body had caught up with it. She’d started choking almost immediately, shivering violently against the cold, and fighting off the large, firm hands that pulled her out of the water.

She hears her parents in the distance. Her mom has only just calmed down enough to stop crying, and Erin’s relieved, mostly because it means she’s left her alone. She’s stopped shaking her, isn’t clinging to her anymore.

It’s ironic really: she’s always felt so lonely, but now all she wants is to be alone.

-

3.

For about thirty seconds, Erin had felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Or at least in high school.

Then it all came crashing down around her, as it always does. It was stupid really; naive. Of course it was a joke. How had she been dumb enough to think that _Chad Cohen_ would ask _her_ to prom? Ghost Girl, the girl who everyone had been making fun of since… well, for as long as she could remember.

When she closes her eyes, she still sees all of his friends standing there in hysterics, that smug look on his face in the moment before she’d hit him. Her hand aches despite the ice pack that’s pressed against her knuckles, but her pride definitely took the biggest hit.

She doesn’t know what possessed her to punch him. Something inside her had just snapped, years of pent up energy surging through her in a moment of red hot anger. It might have felt good, for thirty seconds, seeing that look wiped from his face, watching that trickle of blood spring from his nose, but then she’d been pushed to the ground, and any semblance of victory had been kicked out of her. Literally.

The door to the nurse’s office opens, and Erin winces, peeking up at the intruder with her good eye, and relaxing when she sees that it’s just Abby.

“Okay, first of all, _that was awesome._ ”

Erin smiles, despite herself, as Abby sinks onto the stiff and uncomfortable bed, wrapping a cautious arm around her, and drawing her into her side.

“Secondly… what the hell were you thinking?”

“I don’t think I was thinking,” Erin admits, cradling her hand against her. Her sides are in agony, and both her legs are grazed all over, but her hand is still the most painful. She attempts to move her fingers and groans, “did Mr. Nelson call my parents?”

Abby pulls a face, “duh.”

“Are they mad?”

Abby’s eyes bulge.

“Are you for real?” Abby squeezes her side affectionately, and Erin grits her teeth against the pain, “your mom’s spitting fire. I’ve never seen her so mad. She looks like bugs bunny on acid - bright red. Like, smoke is probably coming out of her ears by now. You’re going to be grounded for, like, a year. Minimum.”

“Shit,” Erin whispers, pressing the ice pack against her face to hide the tears that have sprung into her eyes.

Abby waits a beat and then, “it was still _awesome_ though.”

Erin can’t help but disagree.

-

4.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Erin says in a small voice.

Abby stops her routine of pacing and mumbling long enough to look her in the eye, before continuing, ignoring her, and yeah, that hurts a little bit because aren’t they in this together? (Okay, maybe, given the circumstances, that’s unfair).

“I’m serious, Abby. I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

“You’ll be fine,” Abby pushes her glasses back off her face and pinches the bridge of her nose, earning her a look from the make-up artist who has just carefully applied powder all over.

“I can’t do it. Live television, telling everybody we believe in…” she lowers her voice, “ _paranormal entities._ ”

“Ghosts,” deadpans Abby, sinking into a swivel seat.

Feeling the starts of a panic attack - she’s had enough of them to know how they feel, the way her throat constricts as it builds more and more, a bitter taste that rises like bile, even if this is the first in a long time - Erin looks away from her. “I can’t—- They’re going to… they’re all going to laugh at us.”

“Uh, since when has it mattered what anybody else thinks?”

 _Since always,_ Erin thinks.

With this mad glint in her eyes, Abby continues: “this is it Erin, this is what we did all of this for. What we’ve dreamt of since we were kids.”

Erin doesn’t remember ever dreaming of being a viral video on the internet, something passed around and laughed at. She doesn’t remember any of this being her dream. She presses her lips together, and, with shaking hands, fishes in her purse for the envelope she’s opened and closed and folded and unfolded so many times that it’s beginning to look like an ancient relic, and slides it open.

“Look, I didn’t want to bring this up now but I don’t think I can—“

She’s cut off by Abby snatching it from her, unfolding it, running her eyes quickly over the thick, watermarked paper. Erin can’t bear to watch her, staring down at her hands instead, pressing her finger nails into the backs of her wrists so hard they leave marks.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Erin’s teeth sink into her bottom lip and she’s acutely aware of every breath she takes, every swallow. Her face is sweating uncomfortably. She works mechanically, fingers continuing to work at the soft skin of her wrist, eyes unfocussed.

“I only applied as a… a back up plan. I didn’t think they’d actually…”

Abby’s hollow, bitter laugh finally causes her to look up, and her best friend looks like she’s going to hit something. She knows she’s fucked up.

“Of _course_ they accepted you, in what frigging world would they **not** accept you?! You’re turning them down right? After all we’ve done together, everything we’ve worked on— I’m the only one who believes you, you remember that right?”

Erin feels hot, angry tears building in her eyes and she blinks them away, concentrating on her hands, until Abby pries them apart, holding her balled fists firm, staring her in the eyes.

“Abby—“ she starts, gulping back a lump the size of a golf ball that’s built in the back of her throat.

“No. No freaking way. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you. You’d throw it all away for… for what? A stuffy boring job at a stuffy boring college full of the kind of people you’ve hated your whole life?”

 She’s never seen Abby so angry, not even when Erin had ditched her that one time for a date with the "greasy, pervert" (Abby’s words, not hers) Assistant Professor _Greg_ during college. Even when Abby was defending Erin at high school, it was with a fraction of this. The only thing she’d ever seen Abby this passionate about was… well, their work.

Surprising herself, instead of backing down, Erin just finds herself getting angrier. At least the anger lets her anxiety take a backseat. She tugs free of Abby’s grip.

“No, _you’ve_ hated them your whole life. All I want - all I’ve ever wanted - is to be…” she pauses, feeling the anger dissipate, her voice betraying her, “normal. This is my chance for a normal, steady job, where nobody knows me, nobody knows about school, or about… anything. Nobody knows me as…” she trails off, not wanting to say the words out loud.

“Ghost Girl,” Abby supplies.

It still hurts, all these years later.

“I thought you wanted to reclaim that stupid title? Get your own back on those stupid thugs from high school?”

“I never wanted that,” Erin says, her voice barely a whisper. She feels Abby take her hand again, but this time it’s gentle, familiar.

“This is it, Erin. People are going to believe us this time, I just know it. You know how much research we put into this book, how much hard work - It’s finally being recognised. I know it’s scary, okay, I get it, but it’s going to be okay, we are going to do this together…”

They’re interrupted by someone poking their head into the room: “ladies, we need you on set in five.”

“I—“ Erin stutters.

She looks at Abby, at the pleading look in her dark eyes, those same eyes that have always been the softest, warmest she’s known. Abby, her best friend - her only friend - the only person who ever believed her. She can feel her heart breaking. She never thought that it was possible to feel the physicality of it before, it had always seemed like such a stupid, melodramatic phrase. Now she understands.

“I have to go,” she says, pulling free of Abby, and stumbling towards the door. She moves quickly and rhythmically, concentrating on the sound of her own footsteps on the buffed linoleum, tears already blurring her vision. None of it is loud enough. She still hears Abby call after her, her voice catching.

“You walk away now, and we’re done. Forever.”

She keeps walking.

5\. 

As usual, she’s had too much to drink.

Erin loathes these formals. She pretends not to, but there’s nothing on earth that makes her more anxious than squeezing into a fancy dress and heels, and spending hours kissing people’s asses - not even ghosts. As a result, she ends up taking too many glasses of champagne in an attempt to qualm her nerves, and, yep, making a fool of herself.

The fundamental problem with these events is this: nobody wants to speak to Erin Gilbert. It’s the same problem that she’s had her entire life. She can force herself to remember as much painfully uninteresting information as possible about the professors from other colleges so that she has conversation points, but it’s never going to make any difference. They never bother to learn anything about her. As far as they’re concerned, she might as well not even exist.

 _An asset to modern physics,_ she thinks, _har har_. She’s conquered being able to hold a class’s attention, scribbling furiously away at her wipe board, the information flowing out of her easily, but outside of the realms of physics? She’s nobody.

Even her own colleagues think so.

Erin sinks deeper into her seat and drains her glass. She doesn’t dare stand up because she’s not entirely sure she’d be able to walk if she did. Her head’s fuzzy, the room spinning, and her glasses are emptying all too quickly.

In the distance, she sees Dr. Chambers deep in conversation with Dr. Porter, her blonde hair shiny in the light of an overhead chandelier. Erin scoffs, muttering to herself under her breath for them to get a room. She’s tired of always watching other people socialise, always watching other people being flirted with. It’s never her. The few times somebody has spoken to her this evening - and mostly only to ask if she knows the way to the bathroom, or if she’s seen such and such professor - she’s cracked an awkward joke and scared them off. 35 years old and she still hasn’t figured out how to interact with other human beings. She’s always understood formulae better than she has people.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Erin looks up from her empty glass to find what she can only describe as a beautiful specimen standing over her, all sandy blond hair and broad shoulders and green eyes, and she knows she stares too long because his brow furrows when she doesn’t respond right away.

“Hi!” she squeaks, trying for her best flirtatious smile which she is pretty sure looks more like she’s in desperate need of the bathroom, her throat suddenly dry, “no, siree, nope, nobody sitting here. No one at all. Just little old me, all alone,” she does a goofy little dance in her seat and immediately regrets it (was that her seventh drink? Eighth? She’s lost count), “ _you_ can definitely take a seat.”

“Right… well, thank you,” the stranger answers, hesitating before sliding the chair out from the table. Erin props herself up on her elbows to watch him.

“You are very welcome,” she breathes, waiting for him to sit down.

He picks the chair up from its back, and promptly carries it off to a nearby table, where people are already sitting, laughing as a young, pretty brunette tells a story.

Erin groans, burying her face in her hands.

-

6.

She’s been sitting out on the roof for so long that her fingers are numb with cold.

It’s been four days since she jumped head first into a portal and rescued her best friend. Four days since she saved the world. It hasn’t quite sunk in yet.

She’s stares out at the Manhattan skyline until the lights blur, the messages plastered on the sides of buildings in flashes of green becoming unreadable, blending into one big blob of white against the dark backdrop. If she squints, they look like constellations.

She’s so deep within the realms of her own mind that she doesn’t notice the door open, isn’t aware that she’s not alone until she feels a figure sink down beside her. It takes her a moment to drag her eyes away from the sky.

“Hey, you,” Abby says, fondly, bumping Erin’s knee with her own, “what are you still doing out here?”

“Thinking,” Erin admits, suddenly aware of how cold it is, and the fact she isn't wearing a jacket. She rubs from her elbows down to her fingers, and then bundles her hands into her lap.

“Could you not do that inside? Where it’s warm and frostbite is not a possibility?”

Erin smiles at her, shaking her head as if pulling herself out of a daze, “it doesn’t feel real yet.”

“Frostbite? Maybe not yet, but if we don’t get you wrapped up warm soon, I fear we’ll be saying goodbye to your left hand.”

Rolling her eyes, Erin nudges her with her elbow, “no, this, all of it,” she gestures vaguely around her, out at the dozens of messages, “I still feel like I might wake up tomorrow and it will have all been a dream.”

“Want me to pinch you?” Abby offers, grinning.

Pausing, she frowns, “I don’t think I ever apologised. It’s been so easy falling back into step next to you and then obviously all the Rowan stuff happened but…” Erin looks down at her lap. She’s never been good at saying what she means, “I’m so, so sorry Abby. For everything.”

Touching her hand briefly, Abby nods. She plucks an invisible something out of Erin’s hand, miming scrunching it up, and then throwing it off the roof, and Erin laughs despite how stupid it is. A relic from their past.

“How do you know somebody for so long and then suddenly just stop being near them?” she thinks aloud, “how did I ever do that?”

“I don’t know - I mean, I am pretty fantastic. You missed out,” Abby teases, and for a second, she’s 16 again, goofy and sure of herself and not giving two shits what anybody else thinks about her. She’d been everything Erin needed at the time. She still is, “no, but honestly… I don’t know.”

“I missed you,” Erin whispers, feeling stupid and shy.

Abby makes a retching sound, before turning to look at her sideways, “yeah, I missed you too. Don’t tell Holtzy, I think she already has abandonment issues. I don’t want the two of you fighting over the position as my best friend alright?”

Chuckling, Erin nods, her chest swelling with affection, “alright.”

They sit there in silence for a moment, staring out at the messages one last time, and finally, Erin thinks it might be sinking in. Everything in her life has been angled towards this moment. She’s never given it much thought - destiny, or whatever - but everything she’s ever done feels like it had a purpose now. She finally, for the first time in her entire life, feels like she did something. Like she’s good enough.

“Okay, seriously, can we go in now? It’s freezing. Inside has pizza and beer and… heating.”

Erin laughs, “yes, okay. Go on - I’ll be in in a sec.”

“I am not chiseling you out of the ice if you’re still out here in the morning,” Abby warns.

“I’ll be five minutes. Ten tops.”

“Alright, Ghost Girl!”  
 Abby disappears through the heavy door and back inside, and Erin listens to her footsteps until they’re too soft to hear over the whistling of the wind. She leans on the edge of the roof, the concrete rough against her forearms, and tries to register it to memory. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath, in and then out, looking out one last time, before getting to her feet.

The door opens, and she rolls her eyes.

“Abby, I told you I’d—-“ she swings around and stops speaking.

“Hi,” Holtzmann says, raising a bottle of beer in greeting.

Erin can’t stop the corners of her mouth from turning up into a smile, her skin suddenly feeling warm despite the temperature, “hi.”

“I thought the party might come to you, since you’re, y’know, avoiding the party,” she holds the beer out, which Erin takes gratefully.

“I’m not avoiding.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Erin scowls, playfully, “I’m not!”

Now that the city is safe, and the rush of adrenaline’s died down, and she’s actually managed to get some sleep, Erin thinks she should probably acknowledge what she’s been burying for weeks. She looks at Holtzmann, and she can’t stop that feeling that spreads through her, that warmth. Together, they create electricity. Erin hadn’t understood it until two days ago. Now, Holtzmann’s toast lingers in the back of her head and she can’t quite get rid of it, can’t ignore the intensity with which they look at each other. Sparks fly when they touch. She’s ignored it for too long.

“Hi,” Holtzmann says again, and Erin realises she’s staring.

She can’t ignore the want that is pooling within her. The longing.

“Hi,” she repeats, and Holtzmann laughs.

“Okay, well now that the greetings are over… again,” Holtz breathes, and then she’s leaning in, and Erin feels like the ground bellow her feet is melting away.

She leans forward, and her nose collides with the side of Holtzmann’s face. She laughs, awkwardly, her cheeks already flushing dark red.

Holtzmann swallows, “you had a, uh, leaf…”

Erin feels like the stupidest person on earth.

For thirty seconds.

Holtzmann raises her chin with two fingers, and all at once their mouths are touching, gentle for only a moment, and then they aren’t touching enough. Holtzmann’s hands are at Erin’s waist, pulling her closer, but it’s still not close enough, and her mouth is open and warm, and their teeth collide a little, but it’s still the best kiss Erin’s ever had. The best _feeling_ Erin’s ever had. It still makes every single part of her come alive like it’s never been touched before. The bottle of beer smashes somewhere on the ground, and Erin barely notices. She moves her hands into Holtzmann’s hair, tangles her fingers in wild, blonde curls, lets the softness of her, the heat, the smell, the taste overwhelm every part of her senses.

They come up for air, and Erin can’t help but laugh, touching her fingers to her lips as if she isn’t quite sure it really happened.

“I can’t believe that took me so long,” she whispers.

“You… really are something,” Holtz breathes, her eyes wide and impossibly blue.

Erin loops her fingers around Holtzmann’s. She wants to kiss her again, desperately, but their friends are inside and waiting, and she has all the time in the world to kiss Jillian Holtzmann. 

You only save the city once.

She hopes.

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on tumblr at @katemckutie if you like.


End file.
